


marrow

by talking_tina



Category: EXO (Band), K-pop
Genre: Exhaustion, Implied/Referenced Sexual Abuse, Other, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 13:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6613198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talking_tina/pseuds/talking_tina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he breathes in the smog of the city like fresh air, and knows that this is one thing that they can never take from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	marrow

**Author's Note:**

> wow. so it's been like 2 years since i've posted anything and honestly i cant believe it's been that long, time has gone by so fast. anyways--first exo fic, first kpop fic actually, and im a little unsure about it since i know so little about the experiences of chinese idols in the korean indusry but. this was just a think piece strung together by some vague themes and thoughts i have about the industry as a whole.
> 
> i know i fucked with the time line / places at a lot of points but i was too tired to fact check. this is mostly from my own memories of luhan leaving exo was like and from articles i pulled up concerning his healthy around that time.
> 
> the briefly and subtly referenced sexual abuse in here is one possible conclusion i came to out of dozens. i know it's serious and i'm not making any accusations about sm, but i know it's a huge problem in the industry and some character quirks of luhan--like how he's generally super defensive of his gender identity/masculinity, doesn't like being touched, refuses to share a bed with anyone and has consistent night terrors--seemed to be in line with something of that sort.
> 
> remember that this is pure fiction and i have know fucking clue what goes on in sm or luhan's personal life. this is a fictional character based on the likeness of a real person, not assumption's about luhan's actual life.
> 
> anyways, this is kind of a clusterfuck but i hope you enjoy reading it anyways. comments are always appreciated and feedback from you guys would be fucking awesome to hear.

"You should go to the hospital."

Luhan's only reply is leaning over the toilet and puking out the watery contents of his stomach. 

Lay's standing behind him, a tense presence hovering in the doorway of the bathroom stall, arms crossed over his chest (Luhan can't see him, but he figures just as much) as he waits for Luhan to finish vomiting whatever excuse of a meal he had for lunch that day. 

Luhan's shaking--sweat is making his hands slick, and his fingers are slipping on the stall wall he has them propped up against. He abruptly pulls them away and rubs at his mouth with his wrist instead. His stomach still rolls, but he thinks the worst of it’s over.

"I'm fine," he finally says, standing up slowly, ignoring how shaky his knees are. He's fine.

Lay's quiet behind him for a moment, before he says, "Just don't puke on stage," and leaves Luhan to his own devices.

Luhan's throat burns that night.

 

Kris has always been quiet, but he's been unusually so for the last several weeks, avoiding their gazes and keeping shut up in his room. Luhan stares after him, sometimes, but only for a moment, before he shakes his head clear and moves on. Kris might be younger than him, but he's their leader. He knows how to handle himself.

Which is why Luhan's a little surprised when, one night, Kris abruptly asks Luhan if he could have a word alone with him. Luhan glances around, first--Chen and Lay are experimenting with mixed drinks containing copious amount of alcohol in the kitchen, Xiumin's asleep on the couch, and Tao's sitting on the floor by his feet, the light from the TV illuminating his features in a solemn way that makes him seem older than he really is. He turns his head when Luhan's gaze lands on him, as if he can feel his stare--but then he catches sight of Kris and reluctantly returns his gaze to the television, albeit slowly. Suspiciously.

"Yeah," Luhan says, eyes still trained on Tao. The younger ignores them. "Sure."

Kris is weirdly cautious about dragging him over to his room, checking the hallway before he shuts the door and then turning to Luhan, speaking in a low voice. 

"Luhan," he starts, and then takes a deep breath, as if to calm his nerves. His temples are sweating, Luhan notices. "I'm... I'm leaving SM."

Luhan feels his eyebrows shoot up under his bangs, staring at him in disbelief. "What?"

Kris makes a shushing noise and glances behind him at the door. "No, shh, wait, you can't--I don't want them to know, not yet. They'd--I don't think I can handle that confrontation yet, I just--I can't."

And suddenly Luhan is deeply uncomfortable, seeing their stoic, usually so calm leader look so scrambled and anxious. The veins on the back of his hands stand out.

"So," he starts, at a bit of a loss for words, "why are you telling me this, then?"

Kris pins him with a hard look, and Luhan finds himself dreading what comes next.

"Because I want you to come with me."

"Wha-- _ what? _ " Luhan hisses back, remembering to keep quiet. "Why? Why would you--"

"Because you're sick, Luhan. And I know it's sudden, fuck, but I've been planning this for weeks and you--you should at least be given the  _ chance _ . To leave. To get better."

Luhan blinks at him, then takes a step back. "I'm... I'm not sick, Kris. Not like that."

"You are," Kris insists. "Don't try to hide it, Luhan, I've  _ seen  _ you. You're throwing up, you need rest, and I haven't been able give you any, but now--I'm giving you a chance, but once I leave, I'm... I don't think I'm coming back. So, it's kinda. Now or never."

Luhan stares for a moment, then squints at him. "Then why are  _ you  _ leaving? You're not sick, are you, I mean--you haven't been--"

"I am. It's not whatever you have, but, its’... I’m… I’m not well, Lu."

Luhan feels his stomach drop. "I… what is it?"

The younger looks off to the side, leaning against the door and rubbing at his chest. "My heart," he says, hand resting over his left breast, and for a split second Luhan thinks he's being dramatic, but then, "it's swelling. Myocarditis or something. Hurts like a bitch."

Luhan's legs feel weak. He feels for the edge of the bed with shaky fingers and carefully sits himself down. "Is it bad?"

Kris shrugs, avoiding eye contact. "Don't know yet. SM doesn't seem to give a shit, though. They’re refusing to give me time for treatment. I know it'll only get worse if I stay, and I don’t wanna risk that."

Luhan lets his gaze fall to his lap. His fingers grasp at stray threads on his sweats. "But how--I mean, you're our--how can you--?" And he doesn't know what he's trying to say exactly, but his eyes are tearing up and fuck, he hasn't cried in front of anyone else since he was seven. He  _ won’t  _ cry.

"I'm sorry," Kris says from his corner of the room. "It's not fair to you guys, I know it’s not, but, like--Luhan, I  _ can’t _ ."

Luhan squints down at his hands. Everything's blurry. 

"I'm giving you a chance, Luhan. Everything's ready to go. Tickets and everything. You’re so sick, Lu, please, just come back to Beijing with me. Get better and deal with the press later."

Luhan doesn't know what he's hearing. His fists are clenched. His palms sting where his nails dig into his skin.

"I can't," he finally says.

"I can't come back for you--"

"I know!" Luhan cuts in, suddenly angry. "I know, I don't expect you to. But I _ can't _ ."

"You can't  _ stay. _ "

"Yes, I can. For the rest of the guys, I can."

When he looks up, Kris is looking directly at him. His eyes look hazel in the lamp light.

"You can’t stay forever, you know,” is all he says, before he opens the door and slips out of the room. When Luhan is composed enough to follow suit a few minutes later, he and Tao are cuddling on the couch, the younger fast asleep on his chest, clinging.

 

 

Six days later, Luhan doesn't look up from his tea when Tao starts crying because his phone calls to Kris won't go through. The dorm is more quiet than he ever remembers it being.

 

 

Luhan gets worse.

He's exhausted, and he knows that, but he hadn't ever really thought about the  _ consequences _ of being exhausted. He thought he could deal with the fatigue, and even the dizziness, and he does. That isn’t the problem. 

Instead, it’s the  _ headaches _ that come out of nowhere; they’re a constant pounding against his skull, an ache behind his eyes that he can’t place. The headaches take up so much of his focus that he can hardly gain the energy to eat in the morning, or tie his shoes before he leaves the dorm. He’s become profoundly less talkative, because it honestly hurts to speak. He smiles at concerts because he has to, because the fans deserve that much, but he feel awful, feverish, out-of-touch with his body and it’s fucking terrifying. 

His head pounds. His mouth is dry. His stomach heaves.

He carries on.

 

 

It's only when he starts having problems with his memory that he really gets scared.

It starts out with small things--things like forgetting where he placed his dorm key, or what he stood up to go to the kitchen for--but then suddenly, it worsens, and he finds whole chunks of his day missing. He'll tune into his surroundings after having zoned out for what feels like a moment, only to realize with horror that he has no idea what time of day it is, or where he is, or how he got there. He feels like he’s only self-aware for half the time he’s awake, and it’s terrifying in a way that the nausea and the headaches never were. He doesn’t know where his memories are going but he doesn’t know how to even begin to bring it up, doesn’t even know what anyone could do about it.

The weird lapses in memory and their hectic schedule has him eating at odd hours, and sleeping at odder ones, if he can sleep at all. More often than not, he’ll wake up in the middle of the night to a dark room, gasping and not having the faintest recollection what his dream was about, but knowing that it wasn’t good. Sometimes Minseok will be staring at him with a scared look in his eye, or Jongdae will be rolled over with his hands over his ears, and Luhan knows that he’s started screaming in his sleep again, too. Knows what he must’ve been dreaming about, again. 

Sometimes he doesn’t sleep at all, if only to spare the others.

(At concerts, his throat burns.)

 

 

Luhan's just finished his solo dance performance at a concert in Tokyo, false floor retreating back under the stage, when his dizziness finally gets the better of him.

He finds himself fainting into the arms of the backup dancer behind him, and wakes up a few moments later to three or four noonas fussing over him. They're yapping in a mix of Korean and Japanese that he's too scrambled to tune into, the bewildered expression of the other dancer--Luhan can't remember his name, oh God he can’t  _ remember his name _ \--hovering directly above him.

Luhan’s completely bewildered for about five whole seconds, before he realizes what happened and he jolts upwards, as awake as ever. He shoos the noonas away absently, taking a water bottle when they offer it to him, but ignoring them otherwise. 

He downs the whole thing in one go, throwing the empty bottle aside carelessly and rushing to stage left to join the rest of the guys for the next set, ignoring the bewildered looks of everyone behind him. When he gets there, Lay levels him with a knowing look, and pointedly raises an eyebrow, but the elder simply avoids his gaze and prays to a God he doesn't believe in that this won’t happen in the middle of a song, prays that he can at least last through the end of the night and save himself the humiliation.

 

 

They’ve been lacking, lately, and management is noticing. 

The looks in their managers’ eyes get harder and the practices get more grueling, but they power through it like they always have. The same way they did when Luhan was nothing but a scared little boy in a scary foreign country, the next ten years of his life signed away to a company he didn’t trust like he used to. He’s sick, and everything hurts, and he wonders when things became this way.

His throat still burns, but he just drinks more water and keeps practicing.

 

 

It's when his corneas start bleeding mid-concert that management finally realize there's something more serious going on with him than just exhaustion or a common cold.

They usher him to a hospital back home in Beijing, a two-week blank space in his schedule that they hadn't planned for and an awkward note posted on Weibo explaining his absence. He spends most of his time there sleeping, and ends up waking up in the middle of the night, listening to the quiet hum of the hospital during the midnight shift. The lights are dimmed in his room. He feels a bit like he's in a movie, except there's no cancer diagnosis or tragic accident. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, only that he’s so, so tired, and this is the most peace and quiet he’s gotten since before debut.

He stares blankly out at the inky blackness outside his window, and lets the steady beep of his heart monitor lull him back to sleep.

 

 

He's diagnosed with chronic fatigue. 

The symptoms, he's told, are  _ tiredness, loss of memory and/or concentration, sore throat, unexplained muscle pain, headaches of a new type, pattern, or severity, and/or unrefreshing sleep _ , which Luhan thinks explains a good fucking chunk of the completely bizarre shit that's been happening to him lately, but all he can think about is how pissed their manager is going to be.

Later, when his manager is arguing in broken Mandarin with his doctor, too loudly to be completely appropriate for a hospital, Luhan counts in his head as high as he can in Korean, and pretends to be asleep.

 

 

In the end, he gets a couple weeks off.

His doctor presses for more time,  _ please _ give him more time, but they simply couldn't make it work, not with all the promotions for the new album they needed to start working on soon. Three weeks. Three weeks at home in Beijing, and then it's back to work.

He won't make it three weeks.

Luhan thumbs through his contacts that night, at home with his stressed out mother and overworked father, and spends a few moments hovering over the characters for Yifan's name. 

_ I can't come back for you _ .

He shuts his phone off and sets it off to the side, and tells himself this is something he's going to have to do on his own.

 

 

He revisits the hospital eight times in his three weeks off, and the IVs are beginning to leave scars on the back of his hand that he knows paparazzi and fancams are picking up on. He's sleeping more than he ever had back in the dorm, but his eyelids feel as heavy as ever.

He keeps his curtains closed and his blankets pulled up to his chin, listening to American blues on his phone. He wants to dance, since he hasn't choreographed anything of his own for a while, but there isn't a big enough space to practice in the house, and slinking off to find a studio is the last thing he wants to do.

Instead, he pulls his blankets even tighter around him, and falls asleep listening to Tom Odell sing through his earphones.

 

 

The night before he's due to show back up for work, he goes out to dinner with a high school friend he hasn't seen in seven years, and the first thing his friend greets him with is, "Wow, you look like shit."

"I feel like shit," Luhan answers, grinning, "But I finally met Yunho from TVXQ."

"Sounds like a square deal," he laughs back, throwing an arm around his shoulders, and suddenly Luhan realizes how much he fucking missed this.

 

 

\-- _ there’s hands grabbing, pulling at his clothes, and Luhan’s fighting, fingers scrabbling against broad shoulders and a headache blinding his vision-- _

"Dude, you awake?"

There's fingers snapping in front of his face, and he realizes with a jolt he's just had another memory lapse as he glances around the noodle place they're at, straightening his posture.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good, sorry. Just zoned out."

His friend quirks an eyebrow at him. "Don't bullshit me, Lu, I know you've been to the hospital for something bad, even if you won't tell me what it is. I told you this seven fucking years ago and I'll say it again; this idol shit ain't good for you." He frowns, furrowing his eyebrows, and pushes his noodles around with his chopsticks. "I wish you hadn't gone."

Luhan shrugs. "It's over and done with. I'm famous. Can't undo that now."

"You can't keep doing this, though--"

"I'm not," Luhan cuts in. "I'm quitting after the Beijing concert tomorrow."

His friend blinks, noodles slipping from his open mouth. "What?"

"I'm not flying back to Seoul with the rest of the guys. I'm staying here." 

_ " _ You--you are? Since when?”

“Since now,” Luhan says, turning back to his noodles. “Or, I guess it’s been in the making for a few weeks now. But I’ve just really had some time to think.”

“O-oh. Well,” his friends coughs out, awkwardly. “Good for you. Are--are you sure?”

Luhan huffs out a laugh. “No. It’s gonna be a fucking disaster, probably, but I’m too tired to fucking care.”

 

 

He tells them before the concert that he’s not coming back.

Tao cries, as expected, and it’s Yixing that’s rubbing his back in comfort. Minseok and Jongdae only give him knowing looks that Luhan knows mean that they knew it was only a matter of time. The entirety of K had the decency to looked shocked, but Suho’s the only one that speak up.

“Was it Yifan?”

His voice is as soft as ever, but he asks this in Mandarin, and it hits Luhan like a bullet. “No,” he finally says. “I--he wanted me to, though.”

Suho only smiles softly at him, and ruffles his hair when he brushes past him to the makeup counter. Later, the noonas tut at Luhan for his nest of hair and the bags under his eyes, which they cover in concealer that feels like cake.

His throat burns that night, but this time it’s not from puking.

 

 

At the hotel, they all sleep together on the same bed.

 

 

 

"What do you do," Luhan starts, three weeks later, hanging off the balcony with the same friend as before, "when there's a person in your life, who loves you a lot, but, at the same time, is hurting you? Like, putting pressure on you, and expecting you to do things that you're not sure you're ready to do yet? But you can't tell them you're not ready, because they just won't believe you."

Luhan's looking at the smog-thick sky, but he can still feel the other's gaze on him. "Fuck, man," he finally says. "That's some serious, like, existential shit."

Luhan shrugs. "It's just a question. You don't have to answer it."

Luhan turns to look at him, and they search each other's eyes for a moment, before he says, "I'd get them out of my life. I don't care how much they love you, man, they shouldn't be fucking hurting you, period. Who cares if it's not on purpose. It can still fuck you up." He looks away and takes a drag off his cigarette, and Luhan turns away from the residing smoke, even though he's wearing a mask anyway.

"But what if that person if actually several million people, around the world?"

"Oh." His friend sighs, then huffs out a laugh, tapping the ashes off the cig onto the ground beside him. "I wish I knew, Lu. You're famous; maybe that's where you fucked up. But I don't think I have the answers you're looking for." Luhan looks down towards his lap, and his friend nudges him in the side. "Hey. It's not your fault, okay? The world's fucked up; you were bound to have a quarter-life crisis sooner or later." Luhan hums, and his friend smacks him in the side, harder. "Hey, buck up, kid. You're home for now--just relax for a little bit, yeah? I missed you, dude, not this existential bull. We can go find some old guy's bar where no one'll know your name and grab a beer, okay?"

"I don't drink," Luhan deadpans. Which is true, he hasn't had alcohol since he first joined SM. Too scared to break contract terms, even though he's pretty sure he could have gotten away with it now, looking back.

"That's not the delinquent I know," he says, and Luhan grins. "Of course you drink. Come on, we can get the whole crew back together. Play a little soccer, even." His friend winks, and Luhan laughs, feels himself give in.

"Okay," he says. "Okay."

 

 

He sleeps good that night.

 

 

He pulls himself back together after his friends' half-assed intervention. He's still weak in general; all the activity is hard on his system and he comes down with colds and coughs more than a few times, but he's better than he was before.

He decides to set music aside; it was never his passion much anyways. Instead, he thrusts himself into the new world of acting, which is less scary than it initially seems. The people are nice, and shower him with compliments more often than he knows how to deal with, but there's a familial comfort in his co-stars that's different than EXO. They're... more innocent. Healthier. Optimistic and supportive in a way that makes him think of a childhood long gone. 

When he throws up in bathroom stalls, Lay isn’t there to warn him to take care of himself anymore, and Luhan thinks there’s always going to be some things he’ll miss.

 

 

"I miss you," Luhan says the next day.

"You shouldn't be calling me." There's a pause, a sound of a door shutting, silence. "Manager-hyung's pissed as fuck, by the way."

Luhan thinks back to the tension in the dorm when Kris left. Angry Weibo posts and broken mugs, spilled tea steaming on the counter. Tao screaming hoarsely about betrayal. He grimaces. "Sorry."

There's a sigh. "No, don't be, I'm coming off more angry than I am. You're just doing what you had to. It's just been stressful around here, is all."

"Yeah, figured. Umm. How's Tao doing? Is he mad at me? He won't answer my texts."

"He's been... weirdly introspective, actually. Not sad, just quiet. I don't think he's angry with you, though. I wish he would talk to me more.”

“He can be difficult sometimes,” Luhan sighs, falling back on his bed. “He’s so much younger than us. Yifan was so much better at reading him.”

“Yifan isn’t here anymore.”

Luhan frowns, and rubs at his chest, just over his heart. “I know.” A pause. “This is so fucked up. I’m so sorry. Kris and I fucked you guys over so bad.”

“Don’t worry about me, Lu, I’m fine. I can handle myself. And… you know how K is.”

Yeah, he did. As good of kids as any, but ones that will never know what it’s like to be discriminated against the way they were, or what it’s like to be barely eighteen in a foreign country without speaking a lick of the language. What it’s like to have middle-aged execs leer at you and not know how to tell anyone about it because you literally don’t have the words. Luhan curls into himself, fingering at the hem of his sweats.

“Yeah,” he says. “I know.”

 

 

Luhan spends his days between film sets on the soccer field, finding himself playing with men twice his age if only because they have no fucking clue who he is or what he does. It’s refreshing, and the scrapes on his knees remind him of high school when this was all he used to ever do, all he ever dreamed about doing. Thinks it’s funny how fame would’ve found him either way.

It’s peaceful like that. Hectic sometimes, but peaceful. The soccer fields get muddy when it rains and Luhan loves it, can’t remember the last time he got dirty like this, loving the smell of the earth in his clothes as he throws them into the washer at home.

He’s still sick. Knows he is, still weak, but he’s getting better, and he doesn’t feel like he’s living in a smoky haze anymore, detached and aching. He forgets the leers of middle-aged execs, eventually, dark memories softened by the present and the warm faces of his co-stars instead. It feels so good to hear Mandarin around him again, wonders if he’ll be able to write his own music in it. 

He breathes in the smog of the city like fresh air, and knows that this is one thing that they can never take from him.


End file.
